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Story:Kings of Strife/Part 54
Part Fifty-Four A single person stood in front of them and in front of the gate that led into Castle Kornelia. When he saw the armored sentinel, Silverius paused and pulled onto his lover’s arm. He said nothing at first; still breathless from their ceaseless running and the powers he had used for hours to aid them in their quick movement, he took the moment to catch his breath and wheeze. “I see her,” the Chosen said before he could open his mouth. “I have seen her for days now, in that same position. Motionless. She waits.” “We finally made it,” Silverius wheezed. “We can’t stop here. We’re running out of time, you said.” “I meant it. She will not let us pass, but we must pass, regardless.” Silverius could not help but stare at the Chosen’s profile beside him; she looked strikingly noble and strong for a moment, but for the first time since they had reunited at Icarun, she wore a strange, painful sadness on her like a cloak. “I will handle her.” “No,” he said, remembering the last time the two of them had fought. He had only barely managed to drive her off… but he was stronger now, more resilient, less attached to his own well-being, and more experienced with the wiles of the Crystal of Wind. She would fall beneath him now, he knew. “Let me.” The Knight started to walk again, and Silverius had no choice but to follow. “You are the stronger of us, and the one with the destiny, Crono.” The Knight glanced at him, but it did not feel she truly saw him. “This is mine. I must handle this with her.” “…Are you sure? I… I can’t…” “Don’t worry. You won’t lose me. Not again. She had never been able to defeat me.” “…” “I mean it. You have faith in me, don’t you?” She squeezed his hand in her own. “…” “I know. You don’t have to say it. I know what you’re feeling. I swear to you that she will not defeat me. Can you swear me the same?” “Of course. I am ruin now.” The Knight nodded, and Silverius steeled his gaze. They had said all they needed to, and the Knight was growing closer. She had been leaning backward onto her oversized lance impaled into the earth with her arms crossed; now that the two were within her earshot, she stood to her full height and rested a hand on the tall hilt of the weapon, her golden eye burning brightly even through the grating of her horned helmet’s visor. The Lance Knight struck a powerful figure for some minutes as Silverius and the Chosen Knight approached, with the thin rays of the looming sunrise causing the Knight’s silvery-crimson armor to sparkle and shine with brilliant glory. The spires of her armor towered and curled as always, bravely cutting up to the turbulent dark sky above them. When the two were merely ten paces away, the Knight suddenly ripped off her helmet with overly-animated energy. A plume of wavy blonde hair fell around her shoulders and covered her right eye. They both stared at her only visible golden eye, and both could feel the overwhelming physicality of her hatred. Silverius and the Chosen Knight stopped advancing when the Lance Knight did this. The Chosen was the first to act; she walked forward, a gentle wind blowing her raven hair about her strong face, and she raised her hands to her chest level. Looking at her from an angle behind her, Silverius was reminded for a moment just how intimidating and strong the Chosen could be. “Envy does not suit you, sister,” the Chosen said. “Nor blindness.” “Shut your mouth, C0,” the Lancer spat. She spoke strongly, angrily; a deep contrast to the calm fury of the Chosen Knight. “We are no sisters. Not any longer.” “Would that this could be the truth. It would make this easier.” There was the sadness in her again – just for a second. “You have no right to speak about making things easy. If you really believed that, you would never have betrayed us. You would never have betrayed me.” Silverius’ eyebrows knitted together. He could not find it in himself to interrupt this dialogue, not when it meant he could learn something about once-Maria that he had never known before. The Lancer, every time they fought, had been incredibly protective of “Maria”, to a crazed extent. Silverius had never had the courage to ask the Chosen Knight about that part of her life, if she even remembered all of it. Now that the Lancer did not even look him over or speak anything to him, was this his chance to understand what had occurred between the two? “I did what was right, L9. I wish you would see that. I wish you would see the truth behind what the Leader wants.” “The Lord,” Lancer hissed. “Don’t you dare disrespect our father by calling him out of his true name.” “Yet he gave us no true names. And why would he… when we are simply expendable tools for him to further his goals of ruining this world?” “V8 spoke similar lies as you, sister. And I killed her for it.” The Lance Knight raised her left hand and removed the metallic glove covering it. Her bare hand clenched into a tight fist and shook in rage. “I beat her face in, then I smashed her throat until it was pulp in my grip. And I will do the same to you if you continue to spew such disgusting mush in front of me. Has the first-cycle maggot next to you forced you to imbibe in such heresy long enough for you to believe it?” The Chosen Knight sighed deeply, but that seemed to be the only mourning she had for her former comrade. “I changed on my own. I opened my own eyes.” Silverius felt a shivering in his spine – a realization of power. The Chosen must have activated her Tyrant eyes; he could feel the sudden appearance of strength and bloodlust in the air. “Will you keep your eye closed, sister? Will you continue to be steeped in vanities and false hopes, until the day you are sacrificed, as well? Will you let your life be a tribute for one who cares not about you?” “Gladly,” the Lance Knight replied, her chin strongly raised against the wind. With the sun rising in front of her, her armor shone like it was made of solid, gleaming, Tyrant gold. “It is only through sacrifice for glory that my life has any meaning. The Lord is the perfected pinnacle of humanity, it’s next age, and wherever he leads mankind is a wonderful, blessed frontier. I would absolutely die for it.” “Your misplaced loyalty saddens me like nothing else.” “And your misguided sense of superiority disgusts me like nothing else.” The Knight lowered her body and gripped the hilt of her lance tighter, her clear and pale face twisting into a miserly grimace. “It was your arrogance that drove me to this, C0. Your vanity, your attitude. Just because you have two of the blessed eyes… Just because the Lord always loved you more… and yet… and yet… You would spit in the face of his blessings! You would leave behind everything that was supposed to be glorious, and disgraced us all! Did you ever think of what that felt like, to me, who strove endlessly and futilely to achieve a fraction of the power you did?!” “…” “You didn’t just throw away the blessings and guidance of the Lord. You threw me away.” This visibly affected the Chosen Knight. “I never threw away your love. I could never disregard something that shaped me so…” “Anything not embraced is cast aside. That is how this world works!” The Lance Knight lifted her massive weapon in a flourish, twirling it in the air before slamming it point-down into the ground. Impaled into the earth so, she leaned a hand on the top of her weapon’s handle, conflating herself and enabling her to look down on her twin. “Not once but twice you found pride in your treachery, and the rest of us were thrown about in order to cover for your absences. It was I that made sure my Lord’s plans succeeded despite your absence, and I who will usher in this new age of evolution!” “My grand counterpart, you so steadfast in your doom… I was like you, once. I thought persistence had merit. I thought power was enough to change the world, to rule above chaos… but it is not enough. It is never enough. The world is already enough, with or without us. Power lies dependent on others, always either superior or inferior. It will never be alone, or sufficient. That is how the world works…” “Shut up! Speak not of power, you lustful traitor. Attempt to best me no longer with your words when you cannot even best me with your swords. This strife which you call evil is styled as righteous glory to those who would be above man; come, summon your weapons, and watch as you and this hell of a world are torn apart, ripped asunder to be the foundation of a greater heaven. The Lord is soon upon this place, and the traps have all been set… but we will settle this first, and last.” A single violet and transparent sword manifested next to the Chosen Knight’s shoulder. “I don’t want to kill you, sister.” “It is too late for that, C0. Far too late.” The Chosen did not turn around, but she spoke to Silverius, who had not even realized how long he had stood transfixed by the exchange going on in front of him. “Go, Crono. Leave us now. Find the child of rune in the castle – and save us all.” He nodded. The conversation, at least, had allowed him to catch his breath and a second wind. “It’s almost over,” he simply said – and then he was in the air again, soaring over the white wall of the citadel and onto the great stone castle rising bodaciously in the center of the city. The last thing he saw of the two Knights was his lover, weeping silently and summoning weapons tenfold around her. He was on the ground again in an instant, landing lightly just beyond the closed gates of the castle on both hands and feet. A shiver ran down Silverius’ spine as soon as he landed, and he stood quickly, rising with the winds from his flight swirling and dancing around his right arm. Someone was near, someone with palpable bloodlust. Before he got to speak, he felt another instinctual shiver, and he turned toward the shadows where the shudder originated. With his Tyrant eyes, he saw the superimposed future-image of a pair of knives twirling toward him, ready to pierce into his body. He effortlessly stepped aside from one and knocked the other out of the air with his tempestblade. Not even a second later, he ran forward, pinning the attacker to the wall they were hiding in front of. A woman with silvery-white hair and gray eyes greeted him with something between fear and determination in her face. This was not Vainia, nor was it a member of Ouroboros, not with those natural eyes – that meant she was expendable. Silverius narrowed his eyes and raised his hand, the winds around his sleek tempestblade blowing the clothes and hair of the woman even from the distance of his arm’s length. “Wait,” she cried out. Silverius paused for a fraction of a heartbeat, and his blade wavered just long enough for the woman to move, much quicker than she had before. Her free hand went to his throat and her knee went to his crotch, sending him and his blade of wind faltering and gasping for air. Who was this woman, that she could move this fast, even beneath his focused, supernatural gaze? The strong, unscarred back of another warrior, draped in red rags, flashed in Silverius’ mind… The vision of his rival was all he needed for a burst of energy. Silverius let his windsword disperse, only to pull onto those loose winds and send them right into the body of his enemy. The sudden gasp of intense winds was enough to send her flying a foot or two into the air, her eyes wide and her mouth an open “o” as she did. Silverius would have made use of this opening to pounce and cut her to ribbons, but the first move he attempted to make sent him to his knees, still gasping in pain from the strike she had made below his belt. She landed unceremoniously, but came to her feet quickly, taking the opportunity to back away from him and edge toward the shadows of the castle. They had been fighting in the courtyard of the great Castle Kornelia… and for the first time, Silverius realized the castle was deserted. He sensed a great power in the heart of the place, but even with a sweep of his Tyrant eyes and a summoning of all his senses, he could not feel the presence of anyone in the near vicinity. “Where is she?” he gasped, slowly rising. His arms were lowered at his side as if they were broken; his muscles were aching slightly. The fight in King’s Town and the travel had been strenuous on him, but the pain was nothing he couldn’t handle. Not after his imprisonment. “Vainia. I have to find Vainia.” The woman stepped and slunk around the shadows in perfect silence, apparently unaware that Silverius could easily see her with his glowing eyes. This was not the first time he had noticed his night vision improving markedly. “I have nothing to say to enemies.” “I am not her enemy,” he growled, frustrated and fingers twitching for battle again. This was a clever and skilled opponent, but she was still inferior to him. He felt almost impotent for letting her live this long. He slapped away another knife going for his head, only to notice the woman had fled to a different spot. “I want to protect her.” The woman faltered. “What?” “You heard me. The Serpents are already here. She has to leave, or fight. Regardless, you’re in my way. Tell me where she is.” He raised his hand to his side and closed a fist around a rapidly forming tempestblade, the breath in his lungs expanding with the power as it always did. She hesitated. “I… I don’t trust you.” “Then die.” He leapt, raising his tempestblade above his head. The ash-haired woman reacted as he expected (and could foresee); she dodged to the side, preparing another volley of throwing knives that would most likely hit their mark. Without hesitating an instant, Silverius threw his weapon like a javelin. Just by virtue of it being made out of dark winds, the weapon easily knocked away the knives it met on its way. The woman landed from her side-dive with wide eyes, unable to move in time to dodge his sword as it sailed quicker-than-light to the middle of her chest. A great flash of navy-blue light shone suddenly within the courtyard, and the breath in Silverius’ lungs left him as his weapon forcibly dispersed. It had gone right where he had thrown it, but it had been diverted by what appeared to be a circle of translucent symbols and lines that he could not recognize. The circle glowed bright in his vision, brighter perhaps than it really did. With alarm, Silverius looked down at the rapidly-approaching ground, only to notice a neon-red circle glowing on the earth right where he was about to land in less than an instant. He did land on it – and he froze when he did, unable to do a thing but breathe. His arms, his legs, even his eyes and his neck were still, preventing him from even looking up at the source of the footsteps coming towards him. Something about this power was familiar… but had it ever been this strong? “How did he get in the castle?! I didn’t feel any disturbance in my perimeter runes.” “My lady, you’re awake… You said you would…” “Don’t be foolish, Asearya. Now is not the time. It looks like my allowance of rest is spent.” The footsteps grew closer. “I can sense the power of the Crystals radiating from this one. You did well to defend yourself again this one for so long, Asearya.” “You flatter me unnecessarily, my lady. You saved me.” “Think nothing of it. You there, on the ground – speak!” Silverius could do nothing but grunt. ‘I’ll kill her for humiliating me like this.’ He was on his hands and knees, still sweating from the irrational fear that landing on the circle could have meant his death. This close to the trap circle beneath him, he could see clearly the floating and gently moving symbols that had comprised up the entire double-layered circle. His first instinct was right; these were runes, or some similar alphabet that he had never seen before and could not hope to understand. “I don’t think he can answer you, my lady.” “Perhaps you’re right. Disappointing.” The voice of the newcomer snapped her fingers and the weight on Silverius’ shoulders instantly lessened. He gasped and began to shake all through his body. He still could not move his limbs, but his head and neck were free, and he was barely able to wiggle his fingers and toes. Glancing up, he was able to see the body of both women in front of him, but could not move far enough to see their heads. “Vainia, is it?” “That’s Queen Vainia to you,” spat the first woman. “You have my identity right,” the second one said, her foot tapping and her arms crossing beneath her breasts. She seemed quite short, from what he could see. “You claimed not to be an enemy, yet you move with the power of the Crystal. What is your name?” “Silverius. I come with the wind… and with enemies behind me.” The circle beneath him instantly faded, and Silverius collapsed to the ground in surprise. He rose immediately, only to see Vainia rushing off, a great too-long red cloak striding behind her, and the ash-haired woman – Asearya, apparently – looking between the two of them, confused. Silverius followed Vainia through the dark castle, Asearya only a step or two behind him. “Where are you going?” he asked, eyes glancing around the lightless dwelling constantly. How could the capital of Inusia be completely empty? “What are you doing here?” “I could ask you the same thing,” Vainia said, turning back and glaring at him. He was right about her height; she came up to the middle of his ribs at best, though from the fierceness and strength in her features, she was very clearly a grown woman. “Did you come here to take the Crystal? I know you aren’t with the Inusians – but what cause do you fight for?” He had to think about that for a moment… but the answer came to him now, where it had eluded him for all his life beforehand. “I want to kill the Snakes. And then I want to live out the rest of my days in a land free of ruin.” “Then you are on my side. I will give you those lands.” Vainia turned around and adjusted her cloak on her shoulders, effectively considering the deliberation complete. Silverius neither agreed nor disagreed with her. “But do not think this means I trust you. You look at me wrong, and I will carve out your eyes.” “You can try.” He turned his head slightly as Asearya audibly held onto her knives. “I don’t have time for your threats, or your trust. You need to get your Crystals and leave, before the others arrive.” “Others?” the ash-haired asked behind him. “Yes. The Serpents. Ouroboros. They’re coming here, apparently… all of the Knights. I passed one coming in here.” Vainia’s shoulders lowered for a moment, but she did not turn. They ascended a spiraling iron staircase, and the walls around them boasted great tapestries and life-size portraits of nobles of old. From outside the cold, empty walls, the sound of thunder and lightning rumbled, strong and loud. “I would… but I have yet to find the Crystal in here.” “…” “I need more time,” Vainia hissed, her voice low and angry. Her cloak trailed many steps behind her. “I was almost done with my sweep of the castle. I know the Crystal is here somewhere. It has to be.” “We don’t have any more time.” Being cramped in this castle, unable to feel the winds or hear the battle of the Chosen and the Lance, Silverius felt jittery and anxious. He kept his eyes and shoulders low, letting his hair fall over his face, and tried to keep himself under control. The urge to strike out and to return to the fight was strong, almost too strong. “The enemy are already here. And they are strong.” Vainia, reaching the top of the stairs, pushed a hand through her hair and sighed. She started off to a great room right off the second floor balcony, one decorated with the same light that radiated from her rune circles. For the first time, as she turned, Silverius realized her eyes glowed with the same golden luminescence that his own did. “I will fight. I will not flee. Not without the Crystal.” “What? What do you mean? Do you understand what is happening?” Silverius’ fists curled up and his body began to shiver. Oh, how he wished there were winds around him to summon, to strike with, to ruin! “If you stay here, you will die. This world will die.” “You underestimate me, swordsman. Though I see no sword on your person.” Vainia led them to a great throne room with a ceiling as high as the castle’s tallest tower and buttress. She stood in front of the throne and pulled forth a sheathed rapier from it, letting both her hands rest on its hilt as the sheath pointed to the ground. “Inusian forces or not, I have the power of two Crystals behind me. You have your own power, and Asearya has her own. My army will be in this castle within days. And I will hold this castle, for it is a symbol of my power, my ambition, my strength, and my –” She paused and visibly shook as if something had struck her. Asearya stepped forward in concern; Silverius stayed where he was, still in his slumped and seething stance. “My lady?” asked the female warrior, returning her knives to their pockets beneath her white skirt. “Is everything alright?” Before Vainia could answer, Silverius felt a similar shock run through his body. Every vein and muscle in him seized up, and he felt a heavy, strangling emotion. The Crystal in the pouch strapped to his belt suddenly felt warm, painfully hot even, and let off waves of fire that ran through his entire body. He gasped and fell to his knees in a sudden moment of weakness and breathlessness. What was this? He had never felt such a sensation from the Crystal before, never one that made the hairs on the back of his knees stand up and his heart beat irregularly. He ripped it from the handmade leather pouch and held the fist-sized jewel of emerald in his hands. What greeted him was a horrifying sight. The skin on Silverius’ hands split and peeled off before his very eyes, as if the Crystal’s very presence flayed him – yet the experience was painless; he felt nothing; and this made it even more horrifying to him. “My… my powers…” The light in the throne room flickered off for a second, then returned at a much dimmer intensity, especially the further one got from Vainia and the throne. “I felt… a disturbance. Someone is here… but what is this? What is happening… to my runes?” Vainia let out a pained moan and fell to her knees, just as Silverius did. He forced his eyes closed and tried to forget the vision of his hands. Bile rose in his chest, and he felt a sickening weakness in him again. ‘Nothing hurts me anymore. I’ve endured worse than this.’ The shadows of Icarun… his life-blood pooling around his feet… the experiments, the torture… ‘I’m stronger than this. Strength. Ruin. Strength. Maria…’ His memories of that dark time were choking him, stealing away his strength, and he could not name the feeling that had summoned them. It was a familiar one – but he thought he had killed all his emotions already. “Which one of them… which one of them is it? Which one?!” Vainia screamed, but Silverius understood none of her rattles. That is, until he realized what was happening. “It’s the Knights,” he gasped, trying to rise and return his Crystal back to his pouch with trembling, unresponsive hands. “They’re here. I told you. Damn it all… I told you!” He could see a light pulsing from within the Crystal on and off, and his felt his strength leaving him with every exhale. The winds, how he yearned for the winds! Still sprawled out on the ground, his head still pulsing with pain, Silverius extended a hand out to the giant stained glass window behind the throne. ‘Winds – to me!’ He called out to the winds as he usually did, with his mind, heart, and soul… but nothing came. The lack of strength left him feeling empty and hurt. “Damn it,” Silverius growled. “Damn it!” He shifted his weight and raised the hand still cupping the Crystal to the same window, and made the same mental command… only to come to the same failure as a result. Silverius could feel the blood draining out of his body. The fear. That was what this feeling was – fear for his life. He had forgotten it and considered it dead. Dying was no longer something he feared; nor was torture, pain, or loneliness. But something about the draining of his power and the unknown fate of his lover made every nerve in his body scream with fear. Was it fear for her, then, or something else? The fear became palpable when his Crystal was snatched out of his hand. Silverius jumped and tried to rise, but a sharp boot kicked him in the back of his neck and sent him rolling along the cold stone of the throne room with a sharp groan. As he recoiled, he heard Vainia moan again, this time out of a much stronger and more harrowing pain than ever before. “You!” she cried, more hurt than angry. “It was you. I hoped it wouldn’t be you… but it has always been you, hasn’t it?” Silverius forced himself to roll to a corner of the room, where he came to his feet and looked around the room with raven eyes. The man who took his Crystal stood where he once did, only a few paces away, holding it up and appraising it with one hand. He was very thin and all angles, with long legs and a sharp-fitting suit of slate gray that accentuated his wide shoulders and slim waist. When Silverius got a glimpse of the man’s face and hair, his mouth fell slightly open. The thief looked just like Taoris, especially from the side. Two decades of age at most separated the two, but besides that, he looked just like the man that had repeatedly come close to ending Silverius’ life. Beyond the balcony, the sound of hundreds of feet and swords racing through the castle echoed in the air. Right behind the Taoris lookalike were two men in Ouroboros’ olive cloaks, one tall and thin with midnight-blue hair and the other a hunchback by the looks of it, their form completely covered by what must have been multiple layers of the huge hooded clothes. Silverius was in the motion to turn his attention toward the man with his Crystal when the hunchbacked man turned, just slightly enough to instinctively grab Silverius’ attention – and when the two met eyes, Silverius knew fear like he never had before. Without control of himself, he bent over onto his hands and knees and began to weep. A vision had swept through his mind for an instant, much shorter than any the Chosen Knight had ever implanted in him, too short to vividly remember, but its lasting effect was as strong as any she had ever induced in him. The fear was stronger than even the months of imprisonment and extreme torture in Icarun had ever inflicted in him. Then, when he had been ruined and reborn and ruined all over again, endlessly, he wanted nothing more than to die. Now, alone in this cold castle, powerless, and faced with a hint of a power his mind could not even fathom, he wanted only to have never existed in the first place. “You knew it was me the entire time,” the man with the Crystal said, paying Silverius no mind and tossing the jewel of the winds up into the air casually. “You just didn’t want to believe it. Not when you trusted your Knight so much. Not when he had no idea who I am.” “Kamanus!” Vainia screamed, her voice hoarse and raw. Numbly Silverius wondered if she felt even a fraction of the terror he did in every one of his bones. How could she still speak, still be angry? “What have you done, Kamanus? What of the army? What do you want with the Crystals?!” “Isn’t it obvious?” The man caught the Crystal and began to walk out of Silverius’ vision. The tall man in the cloak followed him, but the hunchback stayed stationary, the too-bright golden luster of his eyes just barely shining from the darkness beneath his hood, just enough to keep Silverius frozen. “I abandoned them. I’ve abandoned everything. My time left on this planet is drawing to a close… as is my purpose for living.” “You’re with them? With the ones behind the World Government? Behind Inusia? Behind the ruin and tyranny of this world? Behind the very evils I’ve dedicated my life to defeating?!” Vainia cried out. From the sounds of her frenzy, Silverius would not have been surprised if she was tearing her hair out or even clawing at her own throat. “Curse you and your bloodline. Curse you with a thousand swords to your seed!” “If only that curse had any meaning.” The man stopped some distance away from Vainia and laughed. “Your war is finished. Your dreams are dead. I will be taking your Crystals, too. Four from you, one we’ve held, and the one from here… that makes six, and six is enough to crack this world in two.” Four? Silverius had one, and Vainia had two. The Lance Knight held a Crystal, most likely, and there was still one hidden in the Castle somewhere… so where did the last one come from? ‘No.’ He threw his head back and screamed, tears suddenly bursting from his eyes and running down his cheeks like rivers. Where did this anguish in his heart come from? What was this dropping of his stomach, this tingling of the space behind his neck and beneath his hair? Why did he cry so, why did he ache so? Silverius beat his hands on the cold ground hard enough that his palms splintered and burst and his nails were thrown off. He pulled and teared at his hair hard enough to rip whole pieces of night-black straight strands out. He had never felt a pain like this before, even when all his flesh had been ripped from his bones. “My powers – my powers – damn you, you bastard, what have you done?! Why can’t I… Why can’t I remember?” “There is no use in resisting the Lord. Sit there on your throne of dust and watch me become fulfilled. Watch the Lord be reborn.” ‘They defeated her. She would have defended the Crystal with her life. They killed her. Maria… No… Maria!’ The hunchback in the cloaks started to walk forward very slowly, but Silverius was too agonized to follow him with his eyes. All of his vision was blackened by tears and the aching of his heart. The fear had not left him – everything in his body urged him to take this opportunity to run, to flee and save himself, but he was unable to move, unable to speak, unable to do anything but mourn. “Kamanus, I don’t understand… Why…?” “I was born from a demon into a city of ashes and corpses. I was raised by a man who wishes to bring humanity and the world to its next stage of evolution. I have lived my entire life ready to sacrifice it in the name of such a wondrous future, where wretches such as you or I will no longer be born sinful.” If Maria was dead then Silverius was dead too. All his energy, strength, and will left him, and he felt as alone and worthless as he had in the prison. Flashes and memories of the dark dungeons, of the chains, threatened to flay him once more. He felt again his eyes being ripped from their sockets, but his vision would not fade, even eyeless. “In the throne – in the throne! Why… why didn’t I think to look in the throne?!” Vainia screamed again, and the man she screamed at laughed louder, and a great light began to erupt from their direction. The men around the first floor began to slow in their rushing around, and as if to compensate, the ground began to rumble and shake. Thunder struck above the roof, so strong and close this time that the stained glass audibly cracked and one of the portraits on the wall fell to the ground. The strength of the light intensified, and the rumbling of the earth grew in power and volume. “Asearya – run! Don’t look at me like that,” Vainia snarled. “Run, my friend – please, run! You have to – urgk!” Her voice was stolen from her as if she was suddenly being choked. Silverius felt the same. He sank on the ground, writhing and holding onto his neck with eyes clenched shut. After a moment of hesitation, he felt the pattering of Asearya’s quick feet rushing past him and down the stairs of the castle. ‘Run. I have to run.’ He began to push himself up – eyes still clenched shut, from the fear – when another shiver ran down his spine, just as strong as the one before, except it came with a bright light that threatened to drown him. He turned to the light and raised his hands over his face, but it made no difference. Eyes shut or wide open, all he saw was a bright light that appeared to come from the stained glass window to pierce his vision. The light was warm, and felt like it was all of the colors at once… and it filled him with fear, like he was staring into the maw of a great beast giving birth to an even larger threat. Yet Silverius still could not move. ‘…I don’t want to.’ As the light burned for seconds, two sets of screams mingled and wove around each other. He heard every tapestry fall, every chandelier in the vicinity drop and smash to pieces. Thunder crashed above louder than he had ever heard, and the entire city sounded like it was screaming. Then the light was gone, and his vision returned. Where there was once four people scattered near the throne, now there were three – two thrown to their feet by the intensity of whatever had happened within the light and a single man standing, slowly shedding the many layers of cloak around him and rising, rising, rising. Before Silverius’ very eyes, when the sole standing man threw off all his many layers of oversized green cloaks, he began to float. Arms spread wide, with long wavy red hair that looked bleached to white, the man flew, and six Crystals floated in a ring around him, each of them exuding a light of a different hue. One man and one woman looked up at the floating, naked man – the other, the hunchback, had disappeared. But Silverius was still alive. ‘I will die before I run. I will let myself be destroyed before I live on with this pain.’ “First I rise,” a voice called out, resounding from every corner of the room, booming with an unnatural strength and deepness of voice. “First I rise,” the male voice repeated, “then my castle rises. I see all… I live once more. Yes… this will do, quite nicely.” “Oh, my Lord! Oh, my Lord! Rejoice! May the heavens cry out, and may all rejoice!” The navy-haired youth in the olive cloak began to sob and ran to the feet of the floating man. In that position he prostrated himself and cried out with a voice of pure joy. “You live again! The time has truly come! You have seen it all!” The man raised one hand and looked down at his palm, and the Crystals began to hasten in their rotation. Vainia was speechless and frozen on her knees. “Yes,” the man repeated, his voice still booming and bouncing off the broken glass. Outside the great window behind the throne, where Silverius would have expected to see the rest of the city of Kornelia, he saw only clouds and what looked to be a great, thunderous tempest. “Yes. I am alive again. Youth… how I’ve missed your warmth.” ‘Tempest. The storm. The last…. The sufficient last.’ Silverius stood, every part of his body shivering and shaking in the cold. This numbness, the soleness of his purpose… this was familiar. This was the strength he had lost in making friends, in travelling, in gaining bond. This was the strength of a lack of will. This was the power one gained when one had nothing to lose. If he was not silently mourning for the one part of his life that mattered anymore, he would have smiled and laughed in the face of such strength. “Winds,” he whispered, raising his left hand and summoning his residual energies to his arm and his eyes. “To me.” This time, the winds complied. They formed a great, long sword many times taller than he was, and just as wide, stopping only to buffet the ceiling of the castle. He was empowered and hastened by the breaking of his spirit, it seemed, for the great tempestblade had been formed in little under two seconds, quicker than ever before. In less than three heartbeats, his greatest attack ever was ready. He pushed off the ground and went flying into the air, already bringing down his arm and the heavy sword attached to it, ready to cleave this floating Crystal thief in half. All for Maria. Silverius felt his heart stop. All the man did was look his direction and raise his hand toward Silverius. That was all it took for Silverius to see that the man had bright golden eyes like his own… but instead of white or bloodshot red around his Tyrant eyes, his eyeballs were the deepest black he had ever seen, as deep as any abyss or tempest-stricken night sky. The coloration was unnatural and horrifying, just wrong enough to fill Silverius with the same fear as before, only ratcheted up to an unspeakable degree. If before his nerves were urging him to run away, now they were screaming with all the power in them. All it took was one glance of the eyes and one raising of the hand from the floating man to make Silverius’ tempestblade immediately disperse. A hot liquid splashed on his face, and he felt himself flying in the opposite direction, as if out of recoil. Struggling to tear his vision away from the man’s chilling eyes, Silverius glanced over at his arm as he flew backwards – and saw nothing. Up to the middle of his bicep, Silverius’ left arm was missing. It simply did not exist any longer. It had been removed; disintegrated; cleaved off; burned off; frozen off; everything and nothing at once. Blood trailed and arced in front of him as he flew backwards, passed over the railing of the throne room balcony, and landed on his back, hard, in an empty first floor foyer. His eyes were still gold and his instincts took over. The fear and all of the pain was too strong. He could fight it no longer. Silverius ran out of the foyer and the courtyard and then the castle. He ran, eyes wide and leaking tears, arm-stump numb and flowing blood. He ran away from the only man in the world he feared. ...End of Chapter Fifty-Four. <- Previous Page | Main Page | Next Page->